


Broken Vessels

by kuzujuk



Series: Sand Sibs [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-21
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-07-14 23:49:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16051106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuzujuk/pseuds/kuzujuk
Summary: Post failed invasion, some siblings relearning how to be siblings





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [grainjew](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grainjew/gifts).



 

They have to cut Gaara’s shirt off his shoulder to bandage it. There are scraps of cloth driven into the wound and Kankuro plucks them out with deft fingers. It's strange, touching Gaara’s skin. It's strange, seeing him wounded.

He's being less weird about it than either of them would have expected. He's just quiet. A new kind of quiet, though. Not the quiet of a storm gathering. More like the quiet after it's gone by. The quiet of the whole desert taking a breath before new growth begins.

“Think it'll get infected if there's sand in there?” Kankuro jokes. The joke is like a jab at an infected tooth. He wants to know when's the next time Gaara will threaten to kill him. He would have never expected to be so nervous about it _not_ happening. “Or will it heal better?”

“Wash it out, idiot,” says Temari. Gaara might as well be unconscious, for all the response he gives. He sucks in a breath when Kankuro pours alcohol over his shoulder, and his fingers tense in the dirt by his side, the flinch making his siblings flinch as well. But there's no stirring of sand. Is he out of chakra, or is he tamping it down? Does the defensive reflex know when pain is part of healing? They've never had a reason to find out. Kankuro makes eye contact with his sister and sees his own feelings reflected. Almost panicked by the fact that they don't seem to need panic.

Bandaging finished, Kankuro buries the bloody scraps of cloth and offers Gaara his own overshirt in trade. “It's got your blood on it, anyway.”

Another jab, another reaction that doesn't happen. Gaara stares at the shirt for a minute and then he says, “thank you.”

“Yeah,” says Kankuro, making horrified eye contact with Temari again. What exactly happened in Leaf Village? “No problem.”

They're all in shock. It's not like they were invested in this whole betrayal mission, but it still didn't go anything like they expected. Temari is bruised and exhausted. Kankuro keeps thinking things are crawling on him, and the worst part of being in the forest is that sometimes, things are. And Gaara is bleeding.

“Thank you,” he says again. “For helping me.”

His voice is deliberate, careful. Like he's testing the weight of each word before he lets it go. He pulls Kankuro’s shirt over his head, favoring the wounded arm, and then presses three fingers to his cheek with the same deliberation. Testing the bruise. He's _bruised_.

“Of course,” Temari says. “We’re your siblings. We're a team.”

She does not say _family sticks together._ That would be a lie. But as siblings, Temari and Kankuro have always stuck together. And even when he's terrifying, they've never stopped offering that to Gaara. He's the one who stopped thinking of them as family, or whose idea of family has no warmth or safety in it. Absurdly, Kankuro feels his hand itch to reach for Temari’s, to hold it, like they're little kids again, just the two of them in their own world, the world of the ones who weren't special.

He doesn't reach out. Gaara is between them. The special one, and look how that turned out. He looks exhausted. Drained of everything from chakra to bloodlust. The Demon of the Sand is reduced to just a child, shivering in the dark because he's lost blood and they can't light a fire, in case anyone is chasing them. Kankuro and Temari make eye contact again, and this time they're both thinking, _that's our brother._ The word tastes different when it isn't surrounded by the murderous aura of the Beast.

“Baki will know what to do,” Temari says. She sounds angry, in the way Kankuro knows means she's scared. She doesn't sound like she believes it. “When we get to the rendez-vous. He’ll know. Gaara, can you stand?”

They've been trading off all day, and neither of them has much energy left for carrying anything, let alone a dead-weight younger brother. It might be better to risk sleeping, but they're not sure they'll be able to. Earlier, Kankuro made a joke about how they should have gone into specialties with lighter equipment, and Temari shushed him loudly even though she kept shifting the weight of her fan on her back like she agreed.

Gaara doesn't move. He tilts his head a little, like he's considering the question. “I cannot,” he says at last.

“Jeez,” says Kankuro. “You didn't even try.”

The look Gaara gives him is almost comfortingly nasty. “I know my limits.”

_How,_ Kankuro wants to ask. _It's not like you've tested them before, is it?_

But maybe there were times they didn't see. He imagines Gaara disappearing into the desert to recover in secret like an animal, nursing himself back to strength. After all, Gaara doesn't sleep, and neither do assassins. Maybe Kankuro doesn't know everything. Maybe Temari hasn't told him everything. That thought is annoying. Siblings shouldn't have secrets.

Temari stands up and dusts herself off, businesslike. “We’ll rest here. I'll take first watch. We can hope they're too busy back at Leaf to care about a handful of ninja who didn't even do any real damage.”

Gaara tilts his head back, looking up at the sky. “No damage,” he says. Like it's an alien concept. Which it is, for him. His whole life has been damage.

Then he says something weird.

“Is it my fault?”

“What?” says Temari. She was tensing for a leap into the trees, for better vantage, but she stops and blinks down at him. Kankuro has seen that face a hundred times. That's the face she makes when her little brother says something stupid.

“Do you blame me,” Gaara repeats, “For our failure?”

Temari snorts. “Hell, no. We didn't want to be there anyway. Did we, Kankuro?”

“Yeah,” says Kankuro. “No. Man, don't you listen when people talk? She argued with Baki for like an _hour_ over this.”

“He asked me to be a weapon,” Gaara says. “That was the only part that had any meaning.”

“Yeah, so you weren't listening.”

Temari heaves a dramatic sigh from over by her lookout tree. “Are you two planning to have a stupid argument, or am I free to leave you alone and watch for _external_ threats? Because if any of us dies tonight it better the _fuck_ not be because of each other.”

Gaara darts a look at Kankuro, their eyes meeting for a fraction of a second. On a normal person, that expression would be _guilty._

Maybe it _is_ guilt. Maybe there's a normal person still in there.

“He started it,” Kankuro says.

Gaara says nothing, but Temari must find a good answer in his face, because she rolls her eyes and turns away.

“Get some rest,” she says. “Back to running in a couple of hours.”

Kankuro can't sleep, and Gaara doesn't. Crow’s joints are full of crushed insects, and Kankuro sits picking them out by the light of the moon, and by touch. If it were Temari sitting silently next to him, he'd make a joke about how great it would be if he could take himself apart joint by joint and clean the grit out of the mechanisms. The thought of how Gaara would interpret a joke like that makes it a lot less funny.

After a while he starts to feel Gaara’s eyes on him. It's creepy. But when he looks up, Gaara is frowning at Crow like he's trying to work out a puzzle.

“What?” Kankuro says. “Don't make me get Temari.”

“A weapon,” Gaara says. He's still frowning at the puppet. Disassembled like this it's not much of a weapon. More like a pile of scraps.

“A weapon,” Kankuro says, all the same. He doesn't know what else to say. He's tempted to get Temari and tell her Gaara is _not_ threatening him.

“If I'm not a weapon, what am I?”

Oh.

Kankuro lets out a breath. “Damn, that's a big riddle.”

“Why do you exist?” Gaara asks. For a second it sounds like a bratty thing to say, and then it sinks in that he's serious. “What is your purpose?”

_Temari,_ Kankuro wants to scream, _He's asking me about philosophy._

“What is it that gives you meaning?” Gaara says, and there's an edge of desperation starting to creep into his voice. His hand twitches in his lap and he presses it down flat, like he's trying very hard not to make any threatening movements.

“Dunno,” Kankuro says. “I like building puppets. I like how the earth smells underground after it rains. I love my sister.” He spins a gear to test its smoothness, and it whirrs and ticks to a satisfying halt. “Dumb shit like that, I guess.”

“Love,” Gaara says. He lifts his good hand and tests his wounded shoulder with delicate fingers. “That's what he said. Fighting because you love someone.”

Kankuro doesn't bother to ask who he's talking about. This conversation is so strange, he might as well give in to confusion.

“Do you think,” Gaara says, and stops. Starts again. “You're afraid of me.”

His voice is small. Hesitant. It sounds like _he's_ afraid. Of what? Of the answer?

Kankuro doesn't know what to do with the thought that Gaara might care how he feels. “Yeah, well, you're scary.”

“Is it too late?” Gaara asks. “To fix it?”

_Temari, help. He's asking me difficult emotional questions._

“I want to be—” Gaara draws a breath and lets it out. “I want to be someone else.”

“Well, shit,” says Kankuro. “And here I thought you were gonna finally admit that you're my brother.”

“Yes,” Gaara says, missing the sarcasm. “That also.”

He pushes himself to his feet, shaky, and takes a step. “I'm going to bother Temari.”

“Great,” says Kankuro. “Cool. Listen—some of us like to sleep at night. I can't think in the dark. I'll have better answers in the morning, all right?”

It's a ridiculous promise, and he doesn't know why he's making it. But Gaara just lifts a hand—a farewell, not an attack—and disappears into the trees.

Kankuro’s going to have to spend a lot more time thinking about _meaning._ Is this what Temari is talking about when she says being older is a pain in the ass?

That question keeps him awake until the last piece of the puppet in his hands clicks into place, satisfying. Everything working like it should. Fixed, and ready to move on.

  



	2. Sparks of Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More siblings

“Temari.”

She jumps at Gaara’s voice behind her. He's crouched at the base of the branch that she's made her lookout post, half-invisible in the shadows. The bandage on his shoulder shows bright against his skin in the moonlight. He's not carrying his gourd of sand, and he looks much smaller without it. She's surprised by the knot of tenderness in her chest, the urge to reach out to him. She spent so much of today being afraid, but now when she looks for the fear, she can't find it.

“You're unarmed,” she points out. Taking the role of leader. Like this is just anyone placed under her command, and not her youngest brother, the demon. “What if something happens?”

Gaara dips a hand into his trouser pocket and shows her a palm full of dust and grit. “I’m never unarmed.” 

He tilts his hand and lets the sand run off, and it drifts back to his pocket instead of falling away. His hand trembles slightly and he frowns at it, like he doesn't understand why. The Beast has such vast reserves of chakra, he's never had to worry about running out before. Temari is surprised that he seems more puzzled than angry about it. Surprised, and relieved. 

“What are you doing up here?” she asks. “You should be resting.” 

“I can take a watch,” Gaara says. He hesitates, and repeats back to her, with a slight change of emphasis, “ _ You  _ should be resting.” 

It's not that he's wrong. They should all be resting. But she feels responsible. Of the three of them, her battles were the least taxing. And she's the oldest. And she's worried about Gaara. About what he might do, like always. But more, tonight, about what he is not doing. 

_ You should be resting,  _ he said. With the same frown he gave his trembling hand. 

“Where's Kankuro?” she asks. 

“Resting.” 

_ Well, that makes one of us.  _ She wants to roll her eyes. Exasperation is a familiar emotion, but less so when Gaara is the reason for it.  _ We are trying to protect you,  _ she wants to tell him,  _ both because you’re our father’s secret weapon, and because you’re our brother. But at the same time, we have to protect ourselves from you. And it's exhausting.   _

She can't tell him that she doesn't trust him to take a watch. And if she tells him she doesn't think he's capable of it, with that bandaged shoulder, and those trembling hands, how will he react? 

“Sorry,” she says. “Oldest gives the orders. I'm on watch. If you're not going to sleep, eat something. And tell Kankuro to eat something.” 

“Eat something,” Gaara repeats, his voice flat. From anyone else she'd call it  _ sulky.  _

“Sugar and carbohydrates restore chakra,” she says, kicking herself internally once the words are out of her mouth. What is she, a preschool teacher? But Gaara’s air of shocked detachment has been bringing this out in her all day. “You need it.”

Gaara holds out his hand again, and they both watch how his fingers shake. 

“It feels strange,” he says, after a long time. His hand drifts to his shoulder, touching the bandage. “Not like pain. But strange.” 

“Well,” Temari says. She scans the treetops, checking for any movement. There's been nothing, but after how badly wrong today went, she can't let herself truly hope that no one is after them. “Everyone feels like that, sometimes. You worked hard today.” 

“Everyone.” It’s barely a whisper. With her eyes turned away, she can't be sure she didn't imagine it. 

Her own bitter laugh surprises her. “Won't our father be amazed to find out you're just like the rest of us.” 

Gaara doesn't respond. She glances over her shoulder, thinking he might have left as stealthily as he appeared, but he's still crouching with his back to the trunk of the tree, hands folded in his lap. He's gazing at nothing, his face unreadable. 

All of their father’s hard work for nothing, she thinks. All those assassins, and the first time they sent Gaara to another village, he went off-script and the mission failed, and here he is hurt and confused and exhausted, like any other person. He apologized to Temari and Kankuro earlier. He thanked them. He told her she should be resting. A sudden, unexpected fury rises up in her chest. Anger that she wants to reach out to her brother and she doesn't dare. Anger that  _ this  _ was the weapon their father chose. Anger that sometimes even she looks at him and sees only the monster. 

“Gaara,” she says. “Go eat something.” 

He just gazes at her for a minute, quiet, and then he nods. He slips away like a ghost, and she's alone again, anger keeping her alert. She almost wishes someone would come after them, now. Someone she could fight. Someone she could punch in the face, because she can't punch her father. 

 

When she checks on her brothers an hour or so later, Kankuro is awake, but Gaara seems to be asleep, curled up next to his jar of sand under a tattered sheet of sackcloth she recognizes as belonging to the puppet Crow.

“He looked cold,” Kankuro says. “Can you believe that shit?” 

“You're not sleeping.” 

“Are you kidding?” he glances at Gaara, and she knows exactly what he's thinking. Sleep, while Gaara is sleeping, and who knows when  _ that  _ is going to make another appearance? But then Kankuro whispers, confidential, “He's just asleep like a normal person. He didn't even twitch when I covered him up. Temari, what the hell happened?” 

She lowers herself to the ground, the third point of a triangle, and Kankuro offers her a ration bar, pounded fruit and nuts and animal fat, with spices to restore chakra flow. She hadn't realized she was hungry, but after the first bite she thinks she could eat a hundred of them. 

She can see one of Gaara’s hands, tangled in the straps of the sand-gourd’s harness, fingers gently curled in sleep. Like a child holding onto a doll. His chin is tucked into his shoulder, so his face is hidden. Is he really sleeping? And even if Gaara isn't listening, can she tell Kankuro what happened? She isn't sure that she can. 

“That boy,” she says, slowly. “The loud one. With the blond hair. He's—something else. He beat Gaara at his worst. It rattled him.”

“No shit,” says Kankuro. “I'm rattled, too.” 

Temari frowns at the top of Gaara’s head. His hair is long enough now to start growing cowlicks like Kankuro’s, but it was shaved close a few months ago, an uneven job that had to have been Gaara himself with a knife, because who else would dare get that close to him?

And then she thinks, who would he ask? If not herself or Kankuro, who would Gaara go to for help, if he ever needed it? And he hasn't come to them. Not for anything, not even little things, like the fact that his shoes are old and one of them is broken. He's repaired it with medical tape, but sometimes she still catches him slipping in it, a problem that for any ninja with less raw power than Gaara could be a death sentence. Is it that Gaara has never needed help? Or would he ask for it, eventually, if he knew how? If he can be defeated, if he  _ has  _ been defeated, will he have to learn? And what kind of person will that make him? 

“We have to help him,” she says, hearing that same surge of anger in her voice.

Kankuro frowns at her, squinting in the darkness like seeing her face will help him understand the words. His makeup is smudged and it makes him look ghostly, his features undefined. “What?” 

“If he's changing, we have to help him. Show him how to be something other than that monster. He's been different today.” 

“Yeah, but—” he glances at Gaara again, uneasy. “What if it wears off? What if the monster’s just worn out, and he comes back with a vengeance tomorrow?” 

“Then that's just life as usual,” Temari says, though she doesn't quite believe it. There is something in her heart that will be broken if the Gaara she's seen today disappears again tomorrow. She's spent so many years trying to treat him like a brother and not show her fear, and today she felt the whisper of a promise that he might reciprocate. She knows Kankuro felt it, too. In Gaara allowing them to treat his wounds, thanking them, showing no anger. She doesn't want to lose him, this youngest brother she always wished for in the glimpses of Gaara their father allowed when they were children, the youngest brother who suddenly seems like a real person again, who has been present for hours without interruption. Quiet, but not threatening. Wounded, but reaching out instead of closing himself off. 

Maybe it is only that the monster’s chakra has been used up, but maybe it isn't. Maybe they can create something new from the ruins of this mission she never wanted in the first place. Maybe they can fill the empty space between her and Kankuro where she always felt their third sibling should be. 

“God,” Kankuro sighs, tipping his head back against the trunk of the tree where he's resting. “Kids are a pain in the ass, am I right?” 

“Brothers,” Temari corrects him. “Brothers are a pain in the ass, and it's because you love them. And it's your turn to go on watch.” 


End file.
